An Unsocial Socialist eBook

“A telegram for you, Miss Wylie, and one for
Chester.” Erskine started up, white with
vague fears. Agatha’s color went, and came
again with increased richness as she read:

“I have arrived safe and ridiculously happy.
Read a thousand things between the lines. I will
write tomorrow. Good night.”

“You may read it,” said Agatha, handing
it to Jane.

“Very pretty,” said Jane. “A
shilling’s worth of attention—­exactly
twenty words! He may well call himself an economist.”

Suddenly a crowing laugh from Erskine caused them
to turn and stare at him. “What nonsense!”
he said, blushing. “What a fellow he is!
I don’t attach the slightest importance to this.”

Agatha took a corner of his telegram and pulled it
gently.

“No, no,” he said, holding it tightly.
“It is too absurd. I don’t think
I ought—­”

Agatha gave a decisive pull, and read the message
aloud. It was from Trefusis, thus:

“I forgive your thoughts since Brandon’s
return. Write her to-night, and follow your letter
to receive an affirmative answer in person. I
promised that you might rely on me. She loves
you.”

“I never heard of such a thing in my life,”
said Jane. “Never!”

“He is certainly a most unaccountable man,”
said Sir Charles.

“I am glad, for my own sake, that he is not
so black as he is painted,” said Agatha.
“You may believe every word of it, Mr. Erskine.
Be sure to do as he tells you. He is quite certain
to be right.”

“Pooh!” said Erskine, crumpling the telegram
and thrusting it into his pocket as if it were not
worth a second thought. Presently he slipped
away, and did not reappear. When they were about
to retire, Sir Charles asked a servant where he was.

“In the library, Sir Charles; writing.”

They looked significantly at one another and went
to bed without disturbing him.

CHAPTER XVIII

When Gertrude found herself beside Trefusis in the
Pullman, she wondered how she came to be travelling
with him against her resolution, if not against her
will. In the presence of two women scrutinizing
her as if they suspected her of being there with no
good purpose, a male passenger admiring her a little
further off, her maid reading Trefusis’s newspapers
just out of earshot, an uninterested country gentleman
looking glumly out of window, a city man preoccupied
with the “Economist,” and a polite lady
who refrained from staring but not from observing,
she felt that she must not make a scene; yet she knew
he had not come there to hold an ordinary conversation.
Her doubt did not last long. He began promptly,
and went to the point at once.

“What do you think of this engagement of mine?”

This was more than she could bear calmly. “What
is it to me?” she said indignantly. “I
have nothing to do with it.”

“Nothing! You are a cold friend to me then.
I thought you one of the surest I possessed.”